Dark Prospects
by AJ Wesley
Summary: A desperate phone call from Sam has Dean flooring it to Colorado where his brother was helping a friend investigate the disappearance of hikers and sightings of an old miner.
1. Chapter 1

**Dark Prospects**

**By AJ Wesley  
**

For my dear friend Kati on her birthday. Thanks for everything!

~oooOOOooo~

**Chapter 1**

Sam stumbled, falling to his hands and knees in the rock-strewn dirt. His aching body protested the new abuse by sending lightning bolts of pain up each limb. He gasped, closed his eyes, and rode it out.

The car wasn't much farther. He could make it. Coop's phone was there. Sam pushed back to his feet, staggering on shaky legs. He grabbed the closest tree for support, afraid of falling again. Afraid he might not be able to get up again. His strength was waning, fast.

It was dark, black as pitch, but Sam knew the way. He stumbled on like some drunken frat boy after a binge, only there was no alcohol in his system. There wasn't much of anything. He couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten, and the metallic-tasting water had been sparse.

How long had it been? He had no idea. Dean would be worried.

Dean.

This time the ache in his gut had nothing to do with hunger. He hadn't felt this way since he'd lost Dean six months before. The hurt had been too much to bear then, and Sam had hardened himself, felt little, lived for the hunt.

He'd promised Dean he would go to Bobby's…after. And he had, for a little while. Bobby had helped Sam bury Dean, but only after a heated argument about salting and burning his brother's corpse. After that, it had been hard, the way Bobby had walked on eggshells around him, the way the man had looked at him with such pity. The way Bobby drank. Like Dad. Sam couldn't handle it, so he'd struck out on his own.

But truthfully? Sam found the bottle as much comfort as Bobby did. Understood now why Dad had turned to it. The pain, the emptiness, was overwhelming. Things had kind of spiraled out of control after that.

After a while he'd found Ruby, or rather, Ruby had found him. Then the training had begun, the headaches, the hunts, all focused on a single goal: finding Lilith and saving his brother from Hell. For a long time, Sam had felt like he'd betrayed Dean's memory by using his powers, but then he'd saved a victim, and another, and another. In that, there was a euphoria he hadn't felt in a long, long time. He could finally make something good of the evil that had been thrust upon him.

And then Dean had returned. Sam hadn't believed it at first. He had prayed every day, pleaded with God to give him his brother back, and those prayers had been answered.

It took Sam a while to get used to it, to readjust to having his brother there. The next few days, he'd been afraid to open his eyes when he woke for fear it had all been a dream. But it wasn't. Dean was back.

Now, Sam was praying he would see his brother again.

An ache pounded behind his eyes, radiating through his head. Sam fell to one knee, and this time he had trouble getting up. _Come on_.

It had been a mistake to go with Cooper. He knew that now. He'd met the other hunter over the summer, and while Coop was a great guy, he wasn't Dean. Didn't work in tandem with Sam the way Dean did. Maybe that was why the spirit had gotten the jump on them.

That wasn't fair. He shouldn't blame Cooper. Sam was just as much at fault.

And right now, he wanted his brother. Sam had spent months cutting himself off from others, focusing on the hunt, shutting himself down against the hurt. Now that Dean was back, now that Sam had a big brother again, the barriers were dropping. Dean made him feel alive again. Dean made him _feel_. It was like Sam had died when his brother had, and now he was reborn as well. It wasn't a dream; it wasn't some demon's scheme. Dean was back.

And, God, Sam needed him now.

He broke from the woods and nearly toppled with no more trees to latch on to. But there it was, awash in moonlight: Cooper's Land Rover. The satellite phone Coop kept for emergencies was inside. Even if their belongings hadn't been taken from them, the phone the hunter had had on him would have been no use so deep underground.

Sam collapsed against the car, fumbling for the door handle. He barely had the strength to open it, and he breathed a sigh of relief that it wasn't locked. Sam rolled on his shoulder, never losing contact with his support, and grabbed the open door. He dropped to his knees and slid his hand under the driver's seat.

Small bits of paper, probably old gas receipts. Glass bottle. Beer? Water bottle. _Ow_…knife. _Damn it, Coop_. Phone. Thank God.

Sam pulled it from its hiding spot, twisted around, and sank down to sit in the open doorway. He squinted at the display, trying to bring it into focus. _10:09 p.m_. But what day? His hands were shaking so badly, he could barely dial. Somehow he managed, punching in the number he had never dropped from service.

After the third ring, he wondered if Dean would answer. His brother wouldn't recognize the number. What if—?

_ "Hello?"_

"Dean," he said, but it came out a rasp. He cleared his throat and tried again. "Dean."

_ "Sammy, that you?"_

Sam smiled. He couldn't help it. "Yeah."

_ "Where the hell have you been?" _There was anxiety in his brother's voice. And maybe a little hurt. _"It's been almost a week. What, you couldn't give me a call, Mr. Independent?"_

Almost a week. "Dean…"

There was a pause, then, _"You okay?"_

"Found the mine. Vengeful spirit. It got…uh…" Damn it, he couldn't _focus_.

_"Sammy, are you okay?"_ More urgency now. _"You need help?" _

_Oh, God, yes, please_. But "Dean" was all he could manage.

He thought he heard the sound of a car horn, then:_ "Where are you?"_

Sam had to think about that a moment. "Colorado."

_"Yeah, no kidding, genius. _Where _in Colorado?"_

Sam's muddled brain wouldn't respond. He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to lessen the pounding in his head. "Idaho…," he said finally.

_"Idaho?"_ Frustration now, born of fear. _"Sam, you just told me Colorado. That's where you were going with Cooper, right?"_

"Yeah."

_ "Sammy, come on, man. Help me out here."_

A burst of static followed Dean's plea, and in it, Sam heard a single word. _"Interloper."_

No.

Sam's eyes shot open, his breath quickening. Most people would have missed it, but Sam knew. The figure was darkness upon darkness. It moved closer, and Sam couldn't stop the tremors shaking his body. "It's here," he said on a breath.

He heard Dean shout his name before the phone went dead, its power sucked dry by the black hole that was looming closer.

Sam let his arm fall, his strength gone. The shade flickered, solidifying into the miner that had held him captive for the past seven days. Forced him to work that damned mine.

"Claim jumper," it wheezed.

Sam shook his head, squinting in the light of the lantern it held. "No. I don't want your gold. Please, you have to—"

Something—the lantern?—swung at him, connected with his temple. The blinding pain had him gasping for air as he slid sideways along the Land Rover and hit the ground. Sam tried to push himself up, throbbing hands clenching in the dirt as he grit his teeth and fought to stay conscious. He couldn't go back there. He just couldn't.

A second blow landed across his shoulders, slamming him back to the ground and knocking the air from his lungs.

The light from the moon faded, handing him back to the darkness he'd so desperately tried to escape.

**~oooOOOooo~**

"Sammy!"

Damn it! He never should have let Sam go. This hunt was just a favor for a friend, an IOU that had been called in. He and Sam had been back together for less than two months; he wasn't about to lose his brother now.

Bobby had pulled over when Dean had honked his horn at him, and now the older hunter was jogging back to the Impala. Dean quickly rolled down the window.

"What's up?" Bobby asked, leaning one arm on the door.

The words came out like a shot. "I just got a call from Sam. He's in trouble, Bobby. I gotta go. Think you can handle your hunt on your own?"

The worry was clear in his friend's face. "Yep. You all right?"

"I heard it. Sam said it was a vengeful spirit."

"You want me to come with you?"

"No, I got it. I just…" Dean ran a hand over his face. "Sam said he was in Colorado, then he told me he was in Idaho."

"Idaho."

"Yeah. He sounded messed up. Bobby, if anything happens to him…" He couldn't finish the thought.

"Wait. Idaho…" Bobby's gaze lowered, his eyes darting back and forth as he thought it out, remembered. He shook a finger at Dean. "Idaho Springs. That was on the map I gave Sam. Big gold mine area."

Dean perked up at that. "Gold mine. That's it. Sam said Cooper had a lead on some disappearances in the same area where people saw an old miner." Dean put the car in reverse. "Thanks, Bobby."

"You be careful. I'll head on up as soon as I'm finished."

Dean gave him a nod, checked the highway for traffic, then did a U-turn to head back the way they'd come. The way to Sam.

And suddenly the fact that his little brother still needed him was no comfort at all.

**~oooOOOooo~**

Something dripped onto his forehead.

Sam stirred, a groan rumbling his dry, aching throat. _What…?_

Another drip hit his forehead, and Sam bolted upright with a gasp, the memories that sensation invoked sending his heart racing and his hands fumbling to wipe the wetness away.

Feeling and sound and _pain_ all assaulted him at once, overloading his mind until he curled forward over drawn-up legs and grabbed his head in his still-shaking hands. It took a few moments before Sam was able to regain control.

The sporadic dripping, the way it echoed…the dank smell…the cold dampness that chilled him to the bone. He was back in the mine, and it was all he could do not to sob in dismay. He'd made it so far, been so close. But…

Dean. He'd contacted Dean. His brother would come, Sam was certain. That single thought gave him strength to lift his head in the inky blackness and draw a deep breath. He could do this.

Reaching out to brace himself so he could stand, Sam heard another new sound: the _chink_ of metal, of chain. He lifted his hands and heard it again, and his stomach clenched. He'd thought, at first, that the heaviness of his limbs was simply due to exhaustion, but it was more than that. His searching fingers closed around the length of chain and followed it to the shackles around each wrist. Further investigation revealed that the cuffs were not merely locked; they were _welded_ shut. His ankles were secured as well. There was about two feet of chain between both sets of cuffs.

"No," he growled through clenched teeth. "No!"

He didn't miss the irony of the situation. The shackles were iron. A spirit using _iron_. Sam almost laughed. _Wonder if Coop—_

Cooper. Where the hell was Cooper? He'd insisted on staying behind, keeping their captor busy so Sam could escape. Now…

"Coop?" Sam called, blinking into the darkness. He couldn't see a thing; there was no ambient light down there at all. Sam was used to working under cover of darkness, but this…this was like being blind. Where was the lantern? "Cooper?"

Almost instantly, the lantern lit itself, making Sam's shadow bounce along the wall. Sam squinted, even that small amount of light seeming harsh to his eyes. He sucked in a breath and waited. If the lantern was lit, that meant—

He saw it standing in the far corner, near the shaft that led to this stinking hole. Sam's research said that the spirit was one Jedidiah Parker, a man who had left his life as a banker to stake claim on this mine in the hopes of finding the mother lode. Parker had gone missing back in 1852, and no one had known what had happened to him, until now. Sam's gaze shifted to the right, where what was left of the miner sat propped against the back wall, a pickax still embedded in his skull. The skeleton's jaw hung open, almost as if it were laughing, mocking Sam, a constant reminder of how close he had been to getting rid of the thing.

He returned his attention to his visitor. It stared at him impassively. Sam glared back. "Where's Cooper?" he demanded.

Parker didn't answer.

Ice cold fingers of dread raised the hairs on Sam's arms and the back of his neck. "Where is he?"

Jedidiah stepped toward him, pickax firmly clenched in his hand. "Back to work, claim jumper," it rasped.

"I'm not—"

Sam didn't even see the spirit move. The next thing he knew, he was being lifted from the floor and tossed across the room. He bounced off the wall and hit the floor with dazing force.

When he opened his eyes, Parker loomed over him, ax poised to kill. "All right!" Sam yelled, holding up his hands in supplication. "All right." He waited, tense, for the blow to fall.

It never came. The old miner was gone in the blink of an eye.

Sam winced, letting go a ragged breath. Crawling on hands and knees, he searched for the pick he'd used for the past week, found it near the lantern. The old, rough wood of the handle had blistered his hands, broken those blisters, worn away layer upon layer of skin until his hands bled. He could see the dark stains on the implement. He picked it up, its weight now familiar.

His adrenaline spike was fading, leaving him even more exhausted than before. Sam pushed to his feet, leaning against the damp rock wall for support. He wasn't even sure he had the strength to lift the pick, but if he didn't…

_ Dean, please hurry._

_**TBC**  
_


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Dean pushed the Impala as hard as he dared, making the ten-and-a-half hour trip in just over nine hours. He'd watched the sun rise in the rear view mirror, feeling the sweat beading his forehead even before the car heated up.

As precious moments ticked by, Dean followed the winding dirt road that led into the mountains, his hands tightening on the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white. He kept his eyes open for signs that might help, that might remind him of something Sam had said. Even a ranger station would do. He hated the idea of involving Law in this, but he needed to find Sammy fast.

Dean had given his blessing for Sam to go on the damned field trip in the first place, even though every bit of common sense he possessed screamed against it. Bobby had assured him that Bill Cooper, someone Sam had met while Dean was down under, was a good guy, a good hunter. That hadn't helped Sam. Dean should have gone with his gut on this one.

He finally spotted the sign for a ranger station and made the turn. It was another two miles before he pulled to a stop in front of the cabin. With a quick glance around, Dean dug his FBI badge out of the glove compartment and stuck it in his pocket, then the Glock. Once he was out of the car, he stuffed the gun into his waistband and headed for the station.

The door opened into a one-room building with a fireplace and sitting area to the right and tourist information to the left. In the far left corner, a young man in uniform sat at a desk reading the morning paper, a cup of coffee steaming on the blotter in front of him.

"Mornin'," Dean said with a smile, making his way to the desk and offering his hand.

The ranger, whose nametag read "Cutler," folded his paper and stood to shake. "Mornin'. What can I help you with?"

Dean pulled the ID from his pocket and held it up for a moment. "Agent Lee," he announced, snapping the wallet closed and stuffing it back into his pocket.

"FBI," the ranger said, wide-eyed. "You here about the missing hikers?"

"Yeah." Dean nodded, running with the ball. Sammy had all the info on this one, but hopefully, this guy could fill in some of the blanks. "Got a report of a guy missing from South Dakota who was last seen in this area. You hidin' something nasty in these woods?"

The ranger gave a nervous laugh, and at that moment, Dean knew the kid had heard stories. Stories he probably didn't want to share with the FBI.

Dean smiled. "Look, that coffee smells mighty good, and I just drove through the night to get here. I could use some caffeine."

"Oh! Oh, sure! Sorry." Cutler headed over to the pot and poured fresh-brewed coffee into a mug emblazoned with "Phoenix Gold Mine." "Cream and sugar?"

"Just black."

The ranger brought the mug over and handed it to Dean, gesturing for him to sit in one of the chairs in front of the desk.

Dean took a sip of the hot liquid and closed his eyes, savoring it. He opened his eyes and smiled at Cutler. "That's good stuff."

The kid beamed.

Glancing casually at the mug, Dean said, "Gold mines, huh? Still find gold in them thar hills?" He grinned at his own wit.

"Pyrite mostly, but sometimes someone finds a small piece. You should take the tour, you know. When you have some free time."

"You can tour the mines?"

"Some. Phoenix is the most popular."

"How many mines are there in the area, would you say?"

Cutler pursed his lips. "Geez, I dunno. They're all over. But not all of them are open to the public. Some are really dangerous." He shook his head. "Every year we get some idiot who thinks the sign 'Danger, Keep Out' means there's gold in there that someone's trying to hide."

"You think that's what's happening now?"

Cutler didn't answer right away. He wrapped his hands around his mug and took a drink. Finally, he nodded. "We've just never had so many go missing before. If your guy is involved, that makes six in the past two months. Usually, it's only a couple per year. We have a pretty good safety record," he added in his defense.

Dean leaned forward in his chair. "We think this is an isolated incident. Have there been any strange reports lately? Figures lurking around? Anything?"

"Well…" The kid thought about it a moment, and once again looked as though he wanted to say something but was leery about doing so.

"What?" Dean prompted.

"We did have a couple of people say that they saw a…a man…dressed like a miner."

Now they were getting somewhere. Dean carefully schooled his expression. "So?"

"No, I mean an _old_ miner, like the actors who do those re-creations."

"Uh-huh. And where were those sighting, exactly?"

"Up by Parker's mine."

Dean canted his head. "Sounds like as good a place as any to start. How do I get there?"

"Oh, uh…" Cutler stood and headed for the tourist information area. He grabbed a trail map from one of the racks, then fished around the drawers for a highlighter. "You can drive most of the way…" He found what he was looking for and pulled off the cap. "Then you'll have to park around here." His finger hit the map before he circled the area with the highlighter. "You'll have to walk from there. It's not a marked trail."

Leaning on the counter, Dean watched the yellow line stretch along the paper and chewed his bottom lip in thought. It looked like quite a hike. It would take a while. Sammy…

"Here ya go."

Dean blinked, focused, then took the map Cutler was holding out to him. He folded it in half and tucked it into the inside pocket of his jacket. "Thanks for your help." He offered a hand again.

Cutler shook it. "You got a partner? We, ah…," he shrugged sheepishly, "never recommend anyone going up there alone. Sorry. My job."

Dean nodded. "I appreciate that. Yeah, I got a partner." His throat tightened, and he had to swallow before continuing. "He's waiting for me." Then added silently, _he'd better be._

**~oooOOOooo~**

The last of the debris loaded into the bucket, Sam sat back on his heels and took a moment to breathe, or try to, anyway. His chest hurt, and the air wheezed from his lungs, making him cough. His throat was sore and gritty, coated with dirt like everything else, but he could barely work up enough saliva to spit it out, let alone swallow it. He needed water.

He'd gathered some the first couple of days. It had rained, and he'd been able to collect it. They'd shared it, him and Cooper, drinking sparingly.

Now it was gone. God, he was so thirsty.

Hunger was another problem. The second day without food had been the worst. Sam's head had pounded relentlessly, his stomach rumbling its discontent. Now it was a constant ache in his gut as his body pulled on its reserves to sustain him. It muddled his thoughts and made him dizzy.

Just a few minutes' rest…

But he'd been idle too long. Inactivity brought punishment, and Sam shuddered at the thought. He willed himself to move, but his body was slow to respond. _Get up. Get. Up. _He grabbed the sides of the wooden bucket and used it as support to push up. His arms shook, muscles barely able to hold his weight. Finally managing to get his feet beneath him, Sam pushed upright, then staggered. He tried to catch himself, but the chain between his shackled ankles snapped taut, throwing him even further off-balance and sending him crashing into the rock wall. He managed to get his arms up to keep himself from hitting face-first, but he gasped as his hands hit the uneven surface. Fingers curling for purchase, he lowered his forehead against the cool rock. _God, please…_

He wanted to sleep, something else that had been denied him. He'd caught a few hours here and there, and caught hell for it, too. But what was more frightening was that when he did manage to fall asleep, it only seemed to be halfway, not the restful slumber his body craved. Then it was difficult to wake up. It got harder and harder each time, until he wasn't sure whether he was asleep or awake, existing somewhere in between.

Whispers flowed through the passages. Voices. But Sam couldn't understand the words.

"Cooper?" he rasped, but the sound didn't carry. He hadn't seen Coop in…how long? Maybe it was…

How much time had passed since he'd spoken to his brother? Hours? Days? Time was meaningless down here. Time was…

Time.

_ "Wasting time."_

Sam jolted back to awareness at the sound of Parker's voice so close to his ear. But when he turned, his back to the wall, there was no one there. Gritting his teeth, Sam pushed off his support and stood upright, legs wobbling beneath him. He took one shaky step, then another, and reached down for the bucket. It was so much heavier than he thought it would be. Staggering under the weight, Sam half-carried, half-dragged the waste to the backfill area of the passage and dumped it.

The rocks cascaded down the sides, tumbling like a tiny avalanche, revealing…Sam's eyes narrowed in the dim light as he tried to make out what he was seeing. It wasn't rock, whatever it was. He stepped closer, leaned forward…

"No," he whispered, dropping to his knees. The waste rock had fallen away to reveal a hand, a hand adorned with a Celtic knot ring. "Cooper."

The rest of the body was completely buried, but Sam reached out anyway, trembling fingers searching for a pulse in the cold wrist. Nothing.

Sam hung his head. He hadn't known Cooper all that well, but he was suddenly consumed by an overwhelming sense of loss. "You son of a bitch," he breathed, anger welling up until he shouted into the empty mine, "Parker, you son of a bitch!" It came out harsh, broken, but he didn't care.

No one answered him.

Sam was well and truly alone.

**~oooOOOooo~**

It took just over an hour to make the trip, giving Dean's anxiety plenty of time to grow. What if this wasn't the right spot? What if—?

Then he saw it. Parked along the side of the road was a forest green Land Rover. Dean recognized it immediately as the vehicle Cooper had been driving when he'd picked up Sam, and some of the tension across his shoulders eased. He pulled up behind it and parked, then climbed out of his car, grabbed his bag and a heavy-duty flashlight, and circled around to the other vehicle.

He spotted the phone almost instantly on the ground just under the driver's side door. Dean picked it up, seeing it was a satellite phone. It was smeared with dirt, and what could be blood. Sam had called from an unknown number. Dean's heart pounded so hard, it hurt. Sam had almost gotten away.

Almost.

Dean pushed the thought back—and the emotion that went with it—so he could focus.

A quick search of the vehicle's interior revealed little. Dean easily found Cooper's cache, not difficult when you knew what to look for. But there was nothing to indicate where he and Sam had gone.

Okay. Mine, then. He consulted the map, then headed into the woods.

It was uphill most of the way, but the twenty-five-minute hike barely winded him. Grabbing a nearby sapling, Dean pulled himself forward on the steep incline. He could clearly see where the ground leveled off onto a plateau before continuing upward. If the map was correct, the mine's entrance should be right…there.

His heart racing, Dean scrambled up the rest of the way. When he crested the ridge, he realized it wasn't exactly a plateau; it was more a shelf on the side of the mountain. Tucked into a dark corner and surrounded by a chain-link fence was the entrance to the mine

Dean crept forward, instantly alert. More than likely he was safe in the daylight, but he wasn't taking any chances.

A faded, handwritten sign hung at an angle off one of the support beams at the entrance. "Trespassers Beware," it read. A much more recent addition was a posted sign on the fence from the authorities warning that the mine was unstable and therefore off-limits. Violators would be prosecuted. Signs like that had never stopped Dean before, especially when his brother's life was a stake. He was through the fence in about thirty seconds. Digging out his flashlight and turning it on, Dean stepped over the threshold.

And stopped.

About ten feet into the shaft, the passage was completely blocked by fallen debris, like there had been a cave-in. By the looks of things, it had happened a long time ago. A _long_ time ago.

Sweeping the beam of light along the walls and floor, Dean searched for another way in. There had to be.

But the light revealed nothing. There weren't even any signs that anyone had been there. He had _not_ just made this trek for nothing. Wasted all that time while Sam was—

The rage and frustration culminated into a single wrenching cry: "Sammy!"

Only the cry of a hawk answered him.

Dean spent the next two hours searching the area surrounding the mine entrance. Maybe there was a vertical shaft or some other entrance somewhere. But his efforts turned up nothing. His throat felt raw from calling his brother's name, but he wasn't giving up. He would _never_ give up. He even tried Sam's cell, just in case.

Scrubbing a hand through his hair, Dean considered his options. He could keep searching, or he could go back to the ranger station to try to get more information, or… He'd passed an old cabin on the way up. If that was the miner's cabin… He was back at the mine's entrance; he knew the way back from there. He turned to head back down the slope—

And stopped.

In his pocket, the EMF meter had come to life. Movement out of the corner of his eye whipped Dean's head around in time to see the figure of a man turn from him and walk into the mine.

"Hey!" Dean yelled. He scrambled back to the shelf and ran inside. Chest heaving for breath, he stood before the mass of fallen rock. There was no one else there.

_ "Get out."_

The disembodied voice came from everywhere and nowhere. The voice on the phone.

_ "Get out!"_

A rumble sounded deep in the mine. Horrified, Dean backed out, hands clenching into fists. Once he was over the threshold, the rumbling stopped. Son of a— The last thing he needed was to piss off a vengeful spirit. One that could bury his brother alive. And Sam _was_ alive. Dean had to believe that. He just had to find him.

Not that long ago, Castiel had appeared to him and told him where he could find Sam. Where was the angel now? What, Sam's soul was worth saving, but his life wasn't? Okay, so maybe angels' priorities were different, but Dean intended on keeping his brother's life _and_ soul intact.

It was getting dark. In the five or so minutes it took him to get to the cabin, he'd had to start using his flashlight again. Dean swept the light over the area, and the beam caught on the wood of the old building, nearly overgrown with vegetation. Crouching, he set his duffel on the forest floor and dug out the sawed-off. He checked the load, then snapped it shut.

Setting his jaw, Dean stood, slinging his bag over his shoulder and stalking toward the cabin, the EMF remaining silent in his pocket.

The door was ajar, jammed in place from years of settling. Dean slipped through sideways. He swung the light from side to side, moving carefully in case there were traps. Ghosts didn't usually play that game, but Dean was in full-on hunting mode and wasn't about to take any chances.

Dean swept the beam in a complete circle, but it wasn't until he was facing the door that he saw it. On the wall beside the frame was a handprint. A blood-and-dust, _Sam-sized_ handprint. As he searched further, more evidence of Sam's stumbling flight assured Dean he was in the right place. He scanned the floor. The old boards were littered with the footprints, probably hikers who had come across the place. But this was one time Dean was grateful for the size of his brother's feet. The trail was easy to backtrack, and there were more bloody prints on the floorboards. He followed them until they—

Disappeared. That could only mean one thing.

Energized, Dean pushed to his feet and stomped one booted foot on the floorboards. He was rewarded with a deep, hollow thud. Yahtzee.

Dean pulled the knife from his boot and pried open what turned out to be a trap door. And found himself staring down into blackness.

Shining his light down the shaft, Dean saw a wooden ladder that led to the bottom, some twenty feet down. And there, just to the side of the ladder, was Sam's backpack.

Adrenaline kicked in, spiking Dean's pulse, tensing his muscles, making him hyper-alert. This was it. Sam was here. He tucked the sawed-off back into his bag, carefully climbed into the shaft, and descended into the darkness.

**~oooOOOooo~**

Sam sank to his knees, the tools slipping from his strengthless hands to hit the floor with a resounding clang.

He couldn't do this anymore. He just couldn't. He was so tired, he couldn't think straight. Maybe he'd end up like Cooper, but at that moment, he really didn't care. At least then he could rest. His body was shutting down, quaking with strain, refusing to obey his commands. It folded down and forward, his forehead touching his knees.

_ "Back to work. You want my gold, you can dig for it."_

Sam heard the voice, but he couldn't move.

_ "Worthless whelp."_

"I—I—" Sam tried to refute it, but the attempt choked him, sending him into a coughing fit that wreaked havoc on his overtaxed body. He nearly passed out from lack of air.

He was suddenly lifted and slammed back against the uneven wall. His cry was a strangled, rasping sound as he reached up with shaking hands to push at the frighteningly solid arm, its hand splayed against his chest, crushing him into the rock. But he had little strength, certainly not enough to combat the powerful spirit.

Sam blinked, trying to focus. When he did, he saw the raised pickax and knew his usefulness had ended. Just like Cooper.

"Parker, wait—" he tried to reason with the thing, but the pressure on his chest increased, driving the air from his lungs. He couldn't breathe.

This was it. He was going to die. Alone in the dark, in a stinking mine. Dean would never find him. Or…what if he did? Then…would there be another deal? And, oh, dear God, he couldn't handle that, not again, and—

_ "Hey!"_

—and he knew that voice, wanted to sob with relief. Dean. His brother was there. Everything would be okay.

Then there was an explosion, and everything went impossibly darker.

**TBC**

_One more chapter coming, guys. Thanks so much for the reviews! Since this story is h/c, you can expect the c in the next chapter. And since this story was written for Kati, I tried very hard to "push her buttons." Hope it works for you, too! _


	3. Chapter 3

_I was able to finish up the edits on the rest, so here it is. I hope you enjoy! Thanks so much for the reviews. I really appreciate it! AJ_

**Chapter 3**

Dean cursed. Firing a weapon in an old mine wasn't the smartest thing he'd ever done, but that freaky bastard had been about to kill Sammy. No time to think, just act.

The spirit dispersed, and Sam crumpled to the ground as a rumble sounded in the mine. Bits of dirt and rock rained down from above.

Dean dove to his knees beside his brother, leaning over Sam to shelter him from the debris. He held his breath, waiting.

The sound faded, shrouding them in silence.

Dean coughed, blinking the grit from his eyes. He pushed back, his focus centered on his brother. The light from the lantern had disappeared with the ghost, leaving Dean's flashlight as their only source.

Sam lay on his side, and Dean's chest tightened as he reached out shaking fingers to press against his brother's neck. A quick, erratic beat met his touch. Sam was alive, thank God. Dean had feared the worst, and the horrible ache that had been slowly eating away his insides for the past seven days subsided to something duller. He just wanted to haul Sam up and hold him and never let him out of his sight again.

Dean settled for brushing back the lock of filthy hair that had fallen across his brother's eyes. He got his emotions in check before trusting his voice. "Sam?" It still came out rough, damn it. Dean set the shotgun and duffel on the ground at his side, then put the flashlight on top of the pack. "Sammy?"

Sam's eyes blinked open and he squinted into the dimness. Chains clinked together as his hands came up, groping the air until his fingers brushed Dean's arm and finally managed to catch hold of it.

That was when Dean noticed the shackles.

"Dean," Sam whispered on a sigh. His body visibly relaxed, a small smile tugging at his lips.

Dean wrapped a hand around the one grasping his arm. "I'm here, little brother. I'm gonna get you outta here, okay?"

Sam's eyes slid closed and he nodded, coughing.

A quick triage revealed no broken bones, but Dean could tell right away his brother had lost weight, muscle mass. Not a lot, but enough that Dean could see it. Sam's face was gaunt, filthy, and scruffy with nearly a week's growth of beard. Gently sliding his fingers into the greasy, dirt-crusted hair, Dean checked for any signs of a head injury. There was a marble-sized lump on the right side, just inside the hairline, but there was no blood in Sam's ears or nose, just dirt. The kid was _covered_ with dirt; it was even in his mouth.

Then there were the shackles. They were on his ankles, too. The damn things were welded, not locked, and Dean cursed the bastard that had done this to his brother. No way to get them off; he'd have to figure the manacles out later.

Sam's wrists were raw, but his hands…his hands were a mess. "God, Sammy…"

In the flashlight's glow, hazel eyes opened, watching him. "'M okay," Sam said softly.

Dean huffed a laugh. "Yeah, I can see that. Can you sit up?"

Another nod, then Sam struggled to oblige, teeth clenched, his grip on Dean tightening. Dean slid an arm under his shoulders and helped. Once upright, Sam gasped, coughing even more harshly from the effort. He leaned weakly into the support, head dropping onto Dean's shoulder.

Dean braced him as Sam caught his breath, sliding a hand up to press the tousled head gently against him in a brief embrace. With his free hand, he dug through his bag, found a bottle of water, and quickly unscrewed the cap with his thumb and forefinger. He lifted his shoulder slightly, nudging Sam's head up. "Hey," he said gently, "water, dude. Here."

It took a moment, but Sam managed to push himself vertical. Dean lifted the bottle to his brother's dry, cracked lips and gave him a small sip. Once that was swallowed, he offered a little more. Sam sputtered a bit, seeming to have a little trouble swallowing, but he managed to drink most of what he'd been given.

"Okay?" Dean asked, tucking the bottle back into his bag.

Sam's eyes were sliding closed again, and he sighed, managing a thumbs-up.

"Stay with me, Sam," Dean urged. "Time to go. Ready?"

"God, yes," came the weak but fervent reply.

Dean slung his duffel over his shoulder and grabbed the shotgun and flashlight. Carefully sliding an arm around his brother's waist, he helped Sam up.

They took it slowly. Sam's legs nearly gave out on him once, but together, they finally managed to get him standing. He was exhausted and panting from the effort but remained on his feet, still gripping Dean's arm like he desperately needed that contact.

And honestly? Dean didn't mind at all.

Steering them toward the passage, the way out, Dean spotted the remains in the corner. He stopped short, eyes narrowing.

"That's…him," Sam provided, his voice a rasp that made Dean's throat hurt to hear it. "Miner."

Great. Salt and burn now, or get Sam the hell out of there?

A low rumbling began, the ground vibrating beneath their feet.

_ "Interlopers!"_

"No," Sam gritted out. "No!" There was panic in his voice as his other hand latched onto Dean's shirt, shaking with the strain.

Okay, forget the salt-and-burn. "Come on, Sam. We're leaving. Now," Dean reassured him. He continued on, pulling Sam with him, moving as fast as the chain between Sam's ankles would allow.

From somewhere behind him, Dean heard the sharp snap of brittle wood, then the thunder of falling dirt and rock. A cloud of dust thickened the air, making it hard to breathe. Dean coughed, squinting into the haze.

He could hear Sam wheezing beside him. They had to be getting close to the ladder—

A deafening crack directly overhead startled Dean, but before he could react, the passage caved in around them. Something collided with his back, driving him to his knees, and he took Sam down with him.

"Dean!" It was as much of a yell as Sam could manage, and it set him coughing, sucking in breaths when he could.

Dean grabbed him and pushed him to the floor, covering as much of his brother as possible with his own body as the debris continued to fall.

"Don't!" Sam cried, pushing feebly at him. "Dean, please…"

Dirt covered the flashlight, plunging them into darkness. It weighed Dean down, pressing, smothering.

Sound eventually faded. All was quiet and still.

And stifling. Like when he'd been young and used to hide under the covers with little Sammy and read comic books by flashlight until the wee hours of the morning. Only, these covers he couldn't flip up to get air.

Dean panicked. Buried alive, and didn't that just bring back memories? How deep? Would he be able to get them out? He could still breathe, so it couldn't be too deep, right?

He pushed up on his arms, growling with the strain. He felt the shift, the tumble of dirt as it fell over his shoulders and onto Sam. Damn it. With a final, mighty push, Dean broke through.

It was an effort to shift his legs, but he managed to move them enough to brace himself while he pulled his brother up to the surface. The flashlight came up with Sam and rolled down the pile of debris, casting its light into the passage.

Sam sputtered and coughed, blinking dust from his eyes until he could see. He reached out for Dean, his face pinched with worry.

"I'm okay," Dean assured him breathlessly. "You?"

Sam's hands dropped to the dirt, and he closed his eyes in relief, nodding.

Dean gave his shoulder a pat, then picked up their light.

A glint along the wall caught his eye. He glanced that way, hoping Miner Forty-Niner wasn't up for Round Two. What Dean saw was enough to steal what was left of his breath.

High along the crumbled wall, a vein of gold reflected the light.

"I'll be damned." The sight was almost mesmerizing.

"Oh, my God…"

Dean tore his gaze away to look at his brother. Sam was staring at the vein in awe, his chest heaving for breath.

"It _is_ here," he whispered. "Parker was right."

Dean turned back to the gold. It had to be worth a fortune. With a grin, he shifted around, but the smile faded when he saw Sam's head slump forward, chin against chest.

Dean took Sam's face in his hands and lifted gently. "Hey. Look at me. Sam?"

Half-open eyes blinked, gaze shifting to Dean.

Dean tried the smile again, this one more strained. "I need you to stay awake."

Sam's eyes slid shut. "So…tired."

"I know." He started digging, pushing the loam away from Sam's legs. "But we gotta get out of here, okay?"

For a moment, there was no response. Then Sam opened his eyes and looked at Dean, his brows drawing together, eyes pleading. "Dean…"

It suddenly got very cold in the mine, their breaths frosting in the air.

Oh, no. No, no, no. Dean dug faster. "Sammy, we need to go. _Now_." He grabbed his brother's arms and pulled, but there was still too much weight on Sam's legs.

"Go."

Dean stopped, certain he hadn't heard that right. "What?"

Sam's chest hitched. He shook his head, his face lined with sorrow and regret. "Please," he begged. "Go. I…I can't…"

Dean's eyes darkened. "The hell I will," he growled, digging furiously. "No. No friggin' way. I am _not_ leaving you, you hear me?"

Sam's chin trembled, but he pressed his lips together, jaw twitching as he fought for control of his emotions.

Dean dug until there was only a thin layer left, then he clenched his fists in Sam's shirt and hauled him to his feet. He pushed Sam back against the wall and held him there, finger pointed in his face. "And if you think I escaped one pit just to die in another, you'd better think again, little brother."

Sam winced briefly, gasping. He shook his head, stricken by Dean's words. "I'm s-sorry, man. So—" His voice caught.

Dean blanched, loosening his grip. "Sammy…"

His brother's eyes widened in fear, and his body began to tremble beneath Dean's hands.

Dean turned and saw the miner behind him, a pickax poised above its head. Backing up a step to block Sam from harm, Dean stood his ground.

Until a shove at his back sent him tumbling. He tucked and rolled, ending up on his back, watching as the pickax swung through the air where he had been standing. Then, in the blink of an eye, the spirit was inches from Sam, fisting a hand in his hair and drawing his head back to expose his neck.

Sam's back arched off the wall, his hands pushing against the miner, trying to hold it at bay. He clenched his teeth as the pick pressed against his throat, but he glared at his captor with defiance.

Dean scrambled to his feet, eyes searching for the shotgun. It was nowhere in sight, probably buried. He heard Sam gasp, knew there was no time.

The gold. It was a long shot but worth a try.

"Hey!" he shouted. "You want gold?

The spirit slowly turned its head, dead eyes narrowing at Dean.

"That's what you wanted, right? Gold? Well, take a look, buddy." Dean pointed to his right. "There it is."

The miner turned back to Sam.

"It's true," Sam said. "It's right….there." His gaze flicked in the direction of the vein. "It's all yours. All…yours."

For a moment, Dean didn't think it was going to work. They'd be totally screwed. He clenched his fists, trying to come up with Plan B—

The old miner looked to his right. It stared for what seemed an eternity. Then it suddenly released Sam, the pick falling away. Staccato movements brought it to the wall, one hand outstretched to touch the precious ore.

Sam slumped back against the wall, breath shuddering out of him. He caught Dean's gaze for a moment, then looked over at the miner.

Dean looked, too, saw the spirit begin to glow.

_"Gold,"_ it wheezed as it stared at the treasure it had spent its life, and well beyond, searching for.

The light grew in intensity. Sam gave a startled cry, his arm shooting up to cover his eyes. Dean shielded his own eyes but kept a watchful gaze on his brother.

Then the light was gone, and so was the ghost.

The _clink_ of chain drew Dean's attention to the shackles just in time to see them drop from his brother's wrists and ankles and turn to dust at his feet. Sam's head dropped back against the wall as he breathed heavily with relief.

But the reprieve didn't last long. A sound like distant thunder rumbled through the mine. It was starting again.

Dean scrambled for the flashlight, and yanked the duffel free. He scooped them up, then grabbed Sam's arm and quickly drew it across his shoulders. He hated to lose the shotgun, but there was no time. Wrapping an arm around his brother's waist, Dean hustled them down the passage toward the ladder. Toward freedom.

Sam stumbled, falling to his knees, but Dean dragged him up again. Sam held onto him, determined.

_Not much farther. Not much farther. _Maybe if he thought it enough, it would be true. The mine was caving in around them, and Dean was pretty sure that if he fell, he wouldn't be able to get up again. So he couldn't fall. Sam was also fading fast, but somehow he managed to keep pace. Winchester-stubborn. Sometimes it was the only thing that kept them alive.

The passage widened into a room Dean recognized. Just through the next doorway. So close now.

A beam crashed to the floor, missing them by inches and dumping more dirt and rock on top of them. Sam went down again, dragging Dean to one knee. Muscles screaming in protest, Dean managed to straighten, a frustrated growl pushing its way through clenched teeth. He could see the entrance to the shaft. Legs burning, he pushed himself harder.

Dean had to turn sideways to get them through the portal, but a huge sense of satisfaction swelled within him. Until he saw the ladder.

He stopped at the base, tilting his head back to gaze up the vertical bore. It looked a hell of a lot longer than he remembered. Crap.

_ Here goes nothing._

Ducking out from under Sam's arm, Dean grabbed his brother and pushed him to the ladder. "Climb, Sam. Now."

Sam's head lifted from where it had lolled against his chest, just enough for him to check what was going on. His shoulders sagged. "Dean…"

"You can do it, Sam. We leave together or not at all."

Sam straightened, one shaking hand reaching out. He grabbed onto the side of the ladder and got a foot on the first rung.

Quickly, Dean dodged to the right and grabbed up Sam's backpack from the corner where he'd spotted it on his way down. Slinging it over the opposite shoulder from the duffel, he hurried back to his brother.

"Step on the edges, not in the middle," Dean warned, shouting above the clamor of the collapsing mine. He hoped the old wood would support their combined weight; Sam wouldn't make it on his own.

Two steps. Three. Sam was breathing hard through his nose, the grunts of exertion becoming more pained with each step. Dean stayed behind him, one rung down, keeping him from falling backward.

The ladder began to shake.

"Uh, don't mean to be…insensitive or anything, but…can you pick up some speed, there, bro?"

Sam tensed, so much so that Dean could feel it. But damned if Sam didn't do it. Dean felt a surge of pride as Sam dug deep into his reserves and dragged himself up rung after rung, pausing only long enough to gasp in some air—not easy when every breath set him to coughing again—for the next one.

When Sam's upper body was finally lying on the cabin floor, Dean set his hands on either side of the hole and boosted himself the rest of the way out. He quickly grabbed Sam's arms and dragged him up the rest of the way.

A cloud of dust followed them out into the cabin. Even the walls of the building were vibrating.

Sam was pushing up on shaking arms, dragging his feet under him so he could stand. He stumbled, reaching for Dean.

Dean made sure he was there. He ducked under Sam's arm again and hurried them from the cabin.

Dean took them as far as the tree line, then Sam sank gratefully to his knees. The air wheezed from his lungs as he sat there panting. "De—" he tried to say, but then began to cough. A hacking that wouldn't subside. He groaned, wrapping his arms around his middle, gasping for breath.

"Sam!" Dean dug frantically through his bag, searching for the bottle of water. He yanked it out, then pulled Sam up and back against him. It seemed to help a little. "Easy, Sammy, easy. Just breathe, okay?"

He waited a little longer until Sam regained control. Then, arms encircling his brother, Dean unscrewed the cap on the bottle and lifted it to Sam's lips. He poured a small amount against the cracked mouth, but his brother's reaction this time caught him off-guard.

Sam grabbed the bottle and upended it, gulping desperately. Only about half of it made it into his mouth, which was probably a good thing, because as Dean struggled to get the bottle back, he got the water back, too. Dean held onto Sam as his brother heaved up every drop he had swallowed.

Once the retching subsided and Sam lay back against him, spent, Dean lifted the bottle once more. "Let's try that again, huh?" he chided gently. "But without the mess this time."

Whether Sam had learned his lesson, or was just too weak now, Dean didn't know, but Sam didn't even try to take the bottle this time. He accepted the drink cautiously, taking small sips.

They sat there a long time, Sam breathing in the fresh air, his tension fading, while Dean offered the water at intervals. Time to recoup some strength; it was going to be a long walk back to the car.

**~oooOOOooo~**

The route seemed awfully familiar. Or…maybe he'd dreamed it? No. No dreams. Dreams were full of horrible and frightening things. This…this felt real.

_Dean_ felt real. His solid support. His warmth. Sam was so cold. Couldn't stop shaking.

And tired. So…

"Whoa!" Dean's voice, close to his ear. "Easy, Sammy. You okay? Need a rest?"

Sam felt himself nod before he even thought about it. It was weird, his mind and body acting independently like that. He felt kind of…adrift. He blinked, trying to focus.

He was sitting now, his back against something rough and…tree-like. Oh. Woods. Right. But…where was… "Dean?"

"Right here, Sam," came the instant reply. A moment later, a water bottle was at his lips, and he drank what was offered. It felt glorious and hurt at the same time. He coughed, the roughness of his throat making him wince.

A hand settled on the back of his neck, rubbing a little, trying to ease the tension there. Sam let his head fall forward, the strain of the motion traveling down his spine.

Dean's hand fell away, and there was the rustle of movement. It was an effort to lift his head, but Sam managed. He squinted into the darkness, trying to focus, needing to know his brother was still there. He didn't want to be alone in the dark anymore. Didn't want to be alone.

"Still here, dude." Dean always knew what he was thinking. "Not going anywhere. Not without you. Okay?"

Sam nodded.

"Here. Sit up."

Sam tried not to groan as he pushed away from the tree, nearly toppling until Dean's arm barred the way, strong across his collarbone.

"Put this on."

The creak and smell of leather were unmistakable, even to Sam's dulled senses. He had trouble finding the sleeves, but managed with his brother's help. The jacket was warm, comforting, and Sam sank into it with a sigh, the trembling easing. But… "'Bout you?" he asked.

"I'm fine," Dean scoffed, ever the macho man. Then his voice gentled. "Time to move, Sam."

Another sigh, then he nodded. He could do this. He could. Sam pushed up, his legs shaking furiously with the effort. Dean helped him up, and once he was standing, it was better, even though he was panting for breath.

"Sam?"

"'M okay. L's go."

Together they pushed on, in sync despite Sam's faltering steps. Sam was certain he zoned a couple of times; Dean's grip on him was tighter when he blinked himself back to awareness. He could hear his brother's labored breathing, knew Dean was pushing himself to the limit.

"Rest…a minute."

"Soon," came Dean's breathy reply.

"Dean—"

"Look, Sam," Dean told him. "There she is."

Sam looked. Even through blurry eyes, there was no mistaking the Impala. He sighed, smiling. So close now. The burst of relief gave him the strength he needed to finish the trip, taking some of the burden off Dean.

The sound of the car door opening was one of the best things Sam had ever heard, and the squeak of vinyl as Dean eased him onto the passenger seat—_his_ seat, which he'd been more than happy to reclaim—made his breath hitch. He let his head fall back, let his eyes drift closed. Sound tunneled. He thought he heard the trunk slam.

Then something warm was tucked around him. A blanket. Dean chafed his arms briefly before settling a hand on the side of his face. Dean's hands were warm, too.

"It's about an hour drive back to town, Sam. Get some sleep."

Sam didn't even hear the car door close.

**~oooOOOooo~**

It wasn't easy to wrangle his groggy brother through the motel room door and drop him onto the farther of the two beds, but somehow Dean managed. Then he sank to his knees and leaned his forehead against the edge of the mattress, grateful for the moment's respite.

He was exhausted. The adrenaline rush was ebbing away, leaving raw nerves in its wake. But Sam was safe. He'd be okay. That made it all worthwhile.

After a couple of minutes, Dean forced himself up and hobbled to the bathroom to turn on the light. Brightness hurt Sam's eyes, so gradual light seemed the way to go.

The rest of the supplies were in the car, but Dean was certain Sam wasn't going anywhere for the moment, so he went to round them up. His brother was dehydrated; Dean knew that for sure. Slamming the trunk closed in frustration, he noted the small convenience store across the street. Well, that was…convenient. Once he figured out what he needed, he would know where to go. He lugged the supplies into the room and dumped them on his bed.

Sam hadn't moved an inch.

Sorting through the supplies, Dean took stock of what they had and what they didn't.

The cuts and abrasions on Sam's wrists and ankles from the shackles needed attention, but the first order of business was to get Sam rehydrated. Dean laid a hand on Sam's head, not caring about the dirt. "I'll be right back, bro."

Dull eyes cracked open, brow furrowing above them. But after a moment, the lines smoothed out and Sam gave a single nod, eyes sliding shut again.

Dean felt a pang of regret at leaving him, but he headed for the door, casting a final glance back before stepping outside and closing the door behind him.

The store had everything he needed, and Dean mentally checked off his list as he placed the items onto the counter. Six bottles of Gatorade, ten bottles of water, Cup-a-Soup, gauze bandages, and a package of disposable razors. He paid in cash and headed back across the street.

Sam was still exactly where he had left him.

Pushing the clock back on the nightstand, Dean made room for his supplies. He got them set up, then retrieved a towel from the bathroom. Looking at Sam, he sighed; he hated to wake the guy, but…

"Sam?" Dean called gently, giving his brother's shoulder a nudge. When he got no response, Dean tried again, louder.

Sam frowned. "Please." It was barely a whisper. "Jus' lemme…sleep."

It was a plea, not a request, and it made Dean's stomach flip. Sam wasn't simply exhausted; he'd been deprived of sleep. Anger rose in him again, but Dean pushed it back. The ghost was history. Sam was safe. But…

Maybe he didn't remember he was.

"Sammy, it's me," Dean soothed. "Come on, bro. I know I'm being a monster pain in the ass right now, but we need to get some liquids in you, okay? So I need you to help me out here, or I'm gonna have to take you to the hospital. And believe me, man, you don't want all those pretty nurses to see you like this. I mean, you smell like a week's worth of dirty laundry."

Somewhere in his rambling, he noticed Sam's eyes opening. He blinked a few times before his gaze found Dean, then wandered a moment before coming back. Sam sighed, his eyes sliding shut. But Dean thought he caught the slightest quirk of the lips before they formed a single word. Dean couldn't hear it, but he knew what had been said, and it made him smile.

"Bitch," he responded, then gave his brother a nudge. "Uh-uh. Wakey, wakey."

Sam responded with a groan this time and slowly inched his hands into position to push himself up. His arms shook with the strain, so Dean helped him, easing him up and around until he was sitting on the edge of the bed. Sam planted his hands firmly at his sides in an effort to keep steady.

Dean paused a moment to make sure his brother wasn't going to fall over. Satisfied, he reached for a bottle of water. "Sam?"

Sam looked at him, coughing slightly between raspy breaths.

Holding up the bottle of water, Dean said, "Okay, look. I know you're thirsty, but you gotta take it slow, okay?"

Sam nodded wearily.

Dean gave him a sip, then waited for him to swallow. "You okay?" he asked.

Another nod.

"No puke-fest coming?"

Sam gave him a withering look.

"Humor me."

With a sigh of resignation, his brother shook his head.

Placing a hand on the back of Sam's neck for support, Dean gave him a few more sips. With each one, Sam seemed to be swallowing easier. A little more water, then Dean switched to Gatorade.

When Sam saw the bottle, he reached for it, but Dean pulled it back. "Oh, no, we're not doing that again."

The hands dropped; Sam didn't have the strength, or the voice, to argue, but he was all little brother when he rolled his eyes.

Dean sat next to him on the bed, folding his left leg beneath him. Hand back to Sam's neck, he lifted the bottle and gave him a mouthful. When Sam managed to keep that down, too, Dean mussed his hair affectionately, sending a shower of dust onto the bedspread.

Wiping his hand on the leg of his jeans, Dean asked, "You up for a trip to the bathroom?"

"Sleep," was the whispered reply.

"Not like this, dude. We have to get you cleaned up. Then you can sleep for a week if you want."

Sam's head turned, and he glanced over his shoulder at the bathroom door. Judging the distance, Dean realized. Shoulders slumping a little more, Sam turned back and reached for the bottle. Dean let him have it, but had to help him lift it. "Little at a time, Sammy," Dean reminded him. When Sam was finished, Dean took the bottle back and screwed the cap on. "Ready?"

Sam tried to stand on his own but nearly face-planted. He caught himself with a hand on Dean's shoulder, blinking like he was dizzy, so Dean gave him a minute, catching the outstretched arm and holding him steady.

When Sam was ready, Dean eased him up on trembling legs. "Nice and slow," he said.

They made it around the bed, Sam pressing a hand against the wall for added support as soon as it was in reach. Smudged handprints were left in his wake. He squinted the closer they got to the light, but it didn't seem to hurt his eyes like it had before.

The trip took a long time, but Dean finally settled Sam on the edge of the tub and gave him a moment to catch his breath. The offer of another drink was gratefully accepted. He pulled off Sam's boots next, then leaned into the tub to turn on the water. While it warmed up, Dean turned back and saw that Sam had managed to get his shirt halfway off, but had to rest before continuing, his face a picture of frustration.

Dean shook his head. "Dude, you're a mess."

Sam grunted, sliding him a sarcastic _thanks a lot_ look before he tugged the shirt off completely and tossed it into the trash can.

Dean unwrapped a bar of soap from the sink while Sam struggled with his jeans. Dean wanted to give him as much of his independence as he could, but Sam was fading fast. Dean could tell his brother was fighting embarrassment, whether over his unsuccessful attempts to escape Parker, or the weakness of his body that made every movement a monumental effort. But, God, it hurt to see him like this.

Staying close enough to catch Sam if he keeled over, Dean waited patiently for him to finish, keeping the Gatorade coming slowly but steadily. He tested the water, then turned on the shower. Sam wouldn't be able to stand in the tub, but he couldn't sit in dirty water either, so a bath was out of the question. He could sit under the spray, though. Dean folded one of the larger towels and set it in the tub for Sam to sit on.

Sam didn't seem to care what was in store as long as it didn't involve too much effort on his part. As Dean helped his brother into the tub, he couldn't help but wonder what would have happened if this hunt had been four months ago. Sam had escaped once; he might have done so again. Or he might have died in that mine. The thought made Dean shiver, even in the warm, steamy air, so he tucked it away where it wouldn't hurt anymore and turned his attention back to Sam.

And was shocked by what he saw. What the water had revealed. Under the layers of grime, his brother was deathly pale. Dark circles ringed his eyes, and his skin looked almost translucent.

Dean sank to his knees beside the tub. "Sammy…"

Sam didn't look at him. He sat slumped, head against the side wall, and stared at the tile as the water rained down on him. A frown puckered his forehead, and his eyes were glazed over. Dark water swirled toward the drain, rinsing away the dirt of days past. If only the memories were so easy to wash away.

Dean knew that wasn't the case. The mind's eye kept vivid pictures, better than HD. Yeah, he knew that for a fact.

He blinked back to the present when he heard the hiss of pain. Sam was wincing, his eyes squeezed shut as the water fell on his upturned hands, revealing palms and fingers where blister upon blister had broken and worn away, leaving raw red flesh exposed.

Dean carefully took Sam's right hand—the worse of the two—and pulled it toward him for closer inspection. It definitely needed a thorough cleansing. Now that most of the dirt was gone, it looked like there were splinters embedded in the skin as well. Dean looked up again, and found Sam staring at his hand.

"He made me…work the mine." The voice was ragged. "Wouldn't let me…rest."

Dean held his breath as he listened.

"No food. Water the first couple of days or so." Sam paused, swallowed. "Cooper's dead."

"I figured."

"He was right there. Right there the whole time. Laughing at me."

It took Dean a minute to realize Sam was talking about the ghost. The remains.

"So close." Sam's eyebrows lifted and he huffed a laugh. "So close and I couldn't…" He laughed in earnest this time, until he coughed, then choked out a sob, the fear and frustration and helplessness of his ordeal finally surfacing. No tears fell from his eyes; his body couldn't spare them.

Dean stayed where he was, Sam's hand cradled in his. He reached out with his other hand, let it settle on the back of Sam's head. He would stay as long as Sam needed him there, because it sucked to be alone. Alone and afraid and in pain.

Dean knew that better than anyone.

**~oooOOOooo~**

An hour later, Sam was dressed in sweatpants and sitting up in bed, a pillow cushioning his back. Dean had stripped off the spread, which was flecked with dirt from Sam's clothes and, well, Sam. But that was all taken care of, and Sam had to admit, he was feeling better already. He'd even allowed Dean to wash his hair, and it felt good to get rid of the last of the vestiges of that damned mine.

Well, almost the last.

Sam rested, tense but silent, right hand propped on the nightstand as Dean used a pair of tweezers to pull splinter after splinter from his palm. He twitched as his brother removed a particularly deep one, but he never uttered a sound.

The television was on, volume low. There wasn't anything interesting on at the moment, but it gave him something to focus on while Dean tugged out what Sam hoped was the last of the wood slivers. But he still caught the covert glances Dean tossed up at him every so often, just making sure he was okay. God, he'd missed his brother.

"Keep drinking that water, Sammy."

Without taking his eyes off the TV, Sam groped around with his bandaged hand for the bottle that was somewhere to his left. He'd finished off two bottles of Gatorade to replace his electrolytes, so Dean had given him a bottle of water.

The clatter of the tweezers hitting the nightstand drew his attention.

"Okay. Think I got 'em all," Dean announced, grabbing the antibacterial cream and bandages.

"Dean."

Dean froze, his eyes darting upward.

Puzzled by his brother's expression, Sam asked, "What?"

Dean cleared his throat, pulled a face, and went back to work. "Nothin'."

"No, Dean. What is it?"

His brother stopped again, shrugged. "It's just…" He looked up at Sam. "For a minute there, you reminded me of Dad. You even sounded like him."

Sam held his gaze a moment, then looked away, an uneasiness settling in his stomach. Raising his bandaged hand to his jaw, he fingered the scruff there. Then his hand dropped back into his lap. "Can't wait to get rid of this."

"I'll take care of it," Dean said matter-of-factly as he finished wrapping Sam's right hand and moved on to his wrist.

"Dude—"

"Hey, it's just like going to the barber. I could even give you a trim if you want."

Sam snorted. "You are _not_ touching my hair."

Dean laughed. "Well, there's gratitude for you. What were you going to say before?"

Sam paused, struggling to remember. "I'm hungry," he said finally.

Tossing the rolls of gauze back onto the nightstand, Dean nodded. "How about some soup?"

"Sounds good."

"When you're finished, you can sleep for an hour."

"You said I could sleep for a week," Sam reminded him, and tried not to wince at the petulance coloring his voice.

Dean folded his arms across his chest, one eyebrow inching upward. "You want to go to the hospital where they can give you an IV, fine. Otherwise, I have to wake you to drink more."

Sam wanted to disagree, even opened his mouth to do so, but something stopped him. With a sigh, he nodded in agreement. Dean was Dean. And even after…everything, he was still Sam's big brother. Always would be. And as his brother turned to go, Sam said softly, "I knew you'd come." Dean turned back, and Sam lowered his gaze, not wanting his brother to see the glaze forming over his eyes. "Knew you'd find me. Just wasn't sure it would be in time…"

A hand mussed his damp hair warmly. "Get some rest, Sam. Soup'll be up in a couple of minutes."

It was times like this when Sam wondered how he'd ever survived without his brother. But…that was it, wasn't it? He'd survived.

He hadn't lived.

**~oooOOOooo~**

By the afternoon, Sam was clean-shaven and sitting up watching TV. He was still enervated and would probably be blowing dirt from his nose for a few days, but he looked much better, and his skin had regained its elasticity.

With the immediate concerns all but handled, Dean realized he was starving. The mere thought of food sent his stomach rumbling, so he grabbed two mugs from the tray beside the coffee maker and filled them with water. They went in the microwave for three minutes. When he turned back, he saw Sam watching him, eyebrows raised.

Dean lifted a shoulder in a casual shrug. "Thought you might be hungry again."

The brows came down. "Understatement." Sam's voice was scratchy and broken, as if he had a sore throat, so he was keeping to monosyllables for the most part. "Two?"

"It would be really inconsiderate of me to eat a cheeseburger in front of you." Dean grinned, Cheshire-like. "I'm an awesome brother."

Sam breathed a laugh. "Didn't stop you," he cleared his throat, "from getting breakfast this morning."

Dean spread his arms, all innocence. "Hey, you were asleep."

Sam shook his head, but he was smiling.

Dean grabbed the box of Cup-a-Soup from the dresser, pulled out the last two packages, and waited for the microwave to _ding_. Then he pulled out the steaming mugs and made lunch. When he was finished, he set both mugs on the nightstand and pointed at Sam's. "Just let that sit for a minute." He opened another bottle of Gatorade and placed it beside the mug, then flopped onto his bed and grabbed the remote. "You watching that?"

Sam didn't even hesitate, just shook his head.

Two rounds through the channels later, Dean stopped on the opening credits of a Looney Tunes cartoon and beamed when the title announced it was "Robin Hood Daffy." "My man Daffy!" he crowed.

Sam rolled his eyes.

They enjoyed the cartoon together, Dean watching Sam covertly to make sure he didn't have trouble with the mug. It took both wrapped hands, but Sam managed.

Dean downed his soup, but it was nothing more than an appetizer to his stomach. Sure, he could go out and get a burger, finish it before he got back, but Sam would know. And that was just…wrong.

They watched two more shorts, one with Bugs and one with Foghorn Leghorn, before Dean's stomach complained loud enough to draw Sam's attention.

Sam quirked an eyebrow.

Dean ignored him.

"Dean, go get something to eat."

"I'm fine."

"Yeah, right."

Dean gave him an offended look. "What?"

Tossing back the covers, Sam slid his legs off the side of the bed. "There's no reason for you not to eat. "It's…" He winced. "…okay."

"Really?"

A hand snaking around his middle, Sam nodded toward the door. "Go."

Dean bounced off the bed and grabbed his jacket off the chair. His hand on the doorknob, he glanced over his shoulder. "I'll be right—" His eyes narrowed.

Sam's head was down and both hands were wrapped around his abdomen.

"You okay?"

Rocking a little, Sam lifted his head, his expression one of confusion. "Yeah, I just…" He gasped in pain. "Dean…" With a cry of pain, he doubled over.

Dean dropped his jacket and darted forward, falling to his knees on the floor as Sam took a nosedive off the bed. Dean managed to break the fall, landing hard on his backside, Sam's back against his chest. "Sammy?"

"Stomach," Sam managed between gasps.

Dean tightened his grip, not knowing what else to do. Guilt twisted his insides into knots. He should have taken Sam to the hospital. He shouldn't have tried to take care of him himself. "Easy, easy. I'm sorry, Sam. I thought the soup would be okay."

"Not…your fault. I…I finished off the bacon and…hash browns…while you were in…shower." Another groan. "Smelled so good. I thought…" Sam curled himself into a ball, his body jerking with spasms. "God, Dean…"

The practical part of Dean knew this was Sam's deprived stomach rebelling against the greasy food. It would pass. It would. But that didn't make it any easier to deal with now.

One of Sam's hands locked around Dean's wrist and squeezed, the grip tightening with each spasm.

"I got you, Sammy. You're gonna be okay." But for now, Dean just held on. He wasn't hungry anymore.

**~oooOOOooo~**

Dean startled awake, his heart pounding, the remnants of his nightmare clinging to him with sharp claws. He panted for breath and wondered what, thank God, had woken him.

More pounding, then a muffled _"Dean?"_

Dean blinked. The door. Bobby. He sounded worried.

Dean moved to get up but then stopped, feeling the weight on his legs. He looked down, and it all came back to him.

He was still sitting on the floor between the beds. Once the stomach cramps had subsided, Sam had collapsed, exhausted, right where he was. Now he lay next to Dean, his head pillowed on Dean's thigh, sound asleep.

Dean shifted carefully, a hand resting on Sam's head to keep it steady as he dug his cell phone from his pocket. It slipped free, and he settled back against his bed. A few buttons brought up their old friend on speed dial.

The pounding stopped, and Dean heard a frustrated curse that made him huff a laugh. A few seconds later came a _"What the—?,"_ then Bobby answered the phone. _"Dean?"_ The sound came through the door and the phone.

Dean couldn't help the smile that crept across his face. "Hey, Bobby," he said softly.

_ "Where the hell are you?"_

"In the room." He kept his voice low so he wouldn't disturb the sleeper, but he couldn't resist toying with Singer.

A moment of silence, then, _"In the… Boy, what are you playing at? Get off your ass and open the door. You about gave me a heart attack."_

"Yeah, about that… Think you could pick the lock?"

_ "What?"_

"I'll explain when you're inside." He snapped the phone closed and listened. On the other side of the door, he could hear the older hunter grumbling about cryptic Winchesters, picking locks, and damn fool kids. God, he loved Bobby.

Tools slid into the lock and, a moment later, the door opened. Bobby stood at the threshold, ever cautious. "Dean?"

Dean lifted a hand and waved. "Over here." He didn't know what it was Bobby expected to find, but the man was armed, and Dean felt the warmth of gratitude at the sight of him.

Singer tucked away his pistol as he entered the room, closing the door behind him. He approached with a puzzled look on his face, but stopped at the space between the two beds, taking in the scene.

Dean shrugged, then looked down at his brother. His fingers absently combed through the dark mop of hair, drawing it back from Sam's face. The lines of pain were gone, and he wasn't flinching in his sleep. Maybe the worst was past. "He finally fell asleep."

"On the floor?"

Dean huffed a laugh. "Don't ask."

Shoulders dropping, Bobby sighed, lifting a hand to scratch under his ball cap. "He all right?"

"He'll be fine."

"You need anything?"

Dean thought about it a moment. "A cheeseburger or three would be awesome."

Bobby chuffed, shaking his head. "You got it." He watched them a moment longer, something akin to fondness in his eyes, then turned to go.

"Bobby?"

The man stopped, turned back, eyebrows raised. "Yeah?"

Dean paused, chewed his lower lip a moment before asking, "Mind if we head back up to your place once Sam is ready to hit the road?"

There was no hesitation in the answer. "You don't even need to ask." He gave Dean a nod, then left the room, closing the door quietly behind him.

Dean considered getting Sam back into bed, then thought better of it. Despite the exhaustion, Sam had been having real trouble falling asleep. Dean decided to just let him be. He set his cell phone on the nightstand, then stretched for the remote. The TV was still on, but the 'toons had ended long ago. What time was it? The clock was somewhere behind his head, so Dean gave up and began flipping through the channels. As an afterthought, he grabbed one of his pillows and maneuvered it behind his back so he didn't suffer permanent damage from the bed frame.

Sam shifted slightly but didn't wake.

Dean found him good company even when he was asleep.

Then his gaze drifted heavenward and he said something to the Man Upstairs that was probably long overdue: "Thanks."

**~oooOOOooo~**

They'd spent the better part of the morning cleaning up the room, Sam moving slower than usual. But his strength was gradually returning, and he was grateful to be able to move around, to _stand_ even, without having to rest every minute.

After two days, Dean had _finally_ stopped hovering. Sam still had a pretty nasty cough, was still hacking up bits of dirt, but the worst of it was over.

Scanning the room for anything he'd missed, Sam stuffed the last of his belongings into his backpack and zipped it shut. He looked up at his brother and felt his lips pull into a smile. Dean had saved his life. Again. "Hey," Sam called suddenly, "still want that burger?" It was the least he could do.

Dean looked up from packing, eyebrows climbing. "You buying?"

Sam huffed a laugh. "Yeah, I'm buying."

"Well, then, hell yeah." Dean grinned as he slung his duffel over his shoulder and headed for the door.

"I could go for a cold beer, too," Sam decided.

Dean shook his head on his way to the door. "Sorry, Sam. No can do."

Sam frowned. What? Okay, he could only take the mother hen for so long. "Dean, I'm fine. I can have a beer."

Dean turned back to him, one hand on the doorknob. His expression was serious, like he was about to deliver one of his lectures.

Sam tensed.

"Sammy, you know the rules. Miners can't drink."

Sam grabbed a pillow off the bed and lobbed it at Dean with a muttered "Jerk."

Dean laughed, utterly pleased with himself as he dodged the projectile and ducked out the door. His laugh was contagious.

Yeah, it was good to have his big brother back.

**Finis**


End file.
